


holes in my false confidence

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: And also a lot of therapy tbh, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claustrophobia, Hiding Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Nureyev has to focus on the plans, because if he doesn’t he’ll start remembering other things. He’ll remember hours spent in a closet where he’d been ordered to hide by Mag. He’ll remember the way he was scolded for the state he was in when he was finally let out, because "Fear is a weakness, Pete, and a thief can’t afford to be claustrophobic."He’ll remember a Martian birthing chamber miles under the ground. He’ll remember being trapped in a robot body in a server farm about to be destroyed, trapped in a cast, trapped in debt-Trapped, like he is now.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 37
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me?? Posting a MULTI-CHAPTER fic??? Shocking, I know. In all honesty this was intended to be a one shot but then I got to 5k words in and wasn't even halfway done, so I figured I'd split it into four chapters instead of just posting it all in one go. The others are already (almost) finished and will be posted daily until the fic's completed.
> 
> This is also basically my Whumptober fic! I know most of my fic have some amount of angst in them, but I wouldn't call them "whump"...this one I would, though. I wasn't planning on doing anything for Whumptober but then I read the stage direction "Being trapped is one of the things in the world that scares Nureyev most" in the Heart of it All pt 2 script and well...I had Ideas. Hope you...enjoy, haha!
> 
> Title from False Confidence by Noah Kahan which is a great song and very Nureyev.
> 
> CWs for this chapter: Nureyev-typical internalized ageism/self doubt, unintentional self harm, physical injury, thoughts reminiscent of internalized ableism, brief nonexplicit sexual content (sex almost happens but doesn't actually), swearing

The exercise room in the Carte Blanche leaves much to be desired, but at least it has one, Nureyev muses as he stretches on one of the meager ballet barres that occupy it.

He has only witnessed Vespa and Buddy use it a couple of times, and never Rita. Jet, on the other hand, is there like clockwork at seven each morning to do his lifts and core work outs. Juno has started joining him some days as well, and though he can’t lift half as much as Jet and always moans about it being too early, seems to be enjoying himself.

“I don’t really have any goals,” he mused to Nureyev about it a couple of weeks ago. “I’m fine with how strong I am now. It just…kinda makes me feel better?” He paused. “Holy shit, has everyone actually been right about exercise this whole time?”

Nureyev chuckled at that. “Yes, dear. It has an effect on the brain as well as the body, you know.”

“Huh.”

Nureyev knows this to be true, but it’s never been why _he_ works out- not for any rush of endorphins or feeling of accomplishment that might come with the act. He works out because he has to.

He puts one leg up on the barre, then stretches as far as he can until he can grab his toes with both hands. He winces at the tension, but forces himself to ignore the pain and hold his form steady. Years ago he could mold himself into these positions without so much as batting an eye, but not anymore. Like so many aspects of his life, it only gets more difficult with each month that ticks by.

On days where he does his routine, he’s always up early, hours earlier than even Jet. Juno is used to him slipping away in the dead hours of the morning, and usually he doesn’t wake up when Nureyev extracts himself from their bed and changes to go to the exercise room. This morning, though, Nureyev had accidentally bumped the bedside table while getting up and caused Juno to blearily open his eye.

“’Reyev…?”

“Go back to sleep, love. I’m just going to do my stretches.”

Juno frowned at this, concern peeking through the tiredness on his face. “Are you sure? Your leg’s still not completely healed. Should you really be doing more than the physical therapy Vespa’s prescribed you?”

Nureyev continued pulling his leggings on, not looking at him. “I have to, Juno. You know my role in tomorrow’s heist.”

“I’m against that too, for the record.”

Nureyev let out a short laugh. “I know you are, darling, but it isn’t as though any of you could take my place. Someone has to go through the vents, and I’m-”

“Apparently the only one flexible enough and enough of a stick insect to manage it, yeah, I know.” Juno sank into his pillow. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. You’re still healing, and I know how much you hate-”

Nureyev quieted him with a kiss, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. Juno not saying it wouldn’t make it any less true, but in that moment it felt like it might. It felt like if he could just pretend that irritating phobia of his didn’t exist, then perhaps it would cease to and he would no longer have to deal with the extra trepidation it was causing him. He was stressed enough about the upcoming heist as it was, since it was his first on the ground since his injury. He really didn’t need any other hang ups added to the mix.

“I really must go if I want to be out before Jet arrives,” he said. “See you soon, dear detective.”

“Yeah, yeah. …Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

So now he’s here in the exercise room, grateful for the solitude that means there’s no one to bear witness to the sheen of sweat on his skin and the way he grimaces with each movement despite being only fifteen minutes into the routine.

He knows this set of stretches as one might know an old friend. He’s carried it with him for years, and completed it before every heist where there was any risk of laser grids or low ceilings or oddly placed windows. It is one of many tools in his arsenal, and should be simple enough to complete after so much practice.

So why is it suddenly so _hard?_

It’d be easy to blame it on his leg. He wants to blame it on his leg, but even if he could, that isn’t much of a comfort. He’s certain that if he’d sustained the same injury years ago, it would have healed faster than this. Even the mishap with the Dark Matters bot doesn’t account for just how long it’s taken.

Besides, it isn’t just the stretches that involve his legs that are harder now. His back aches as he arches it, and his elbows twinge as he pulls them across his chest. The hurts aren’t painful enough to suggest illness, but instead something else, perhaps even worse- _age._

He curses the thought. It’s already one that takes up far too much of his time and energy. How many more minutes would he have in the day, if he didn’t have to waste any on applying all his creams and makeup, then taking them off and reapplying them when the person who looks back at him in the mirror still hasn’t magically transformed into himself from ten years ago?

He doesn’t like the effect that aging has on his appearance, of course, but he can at least deal with that. This, though…this encroachment on one of few things he holds in higher regard than his looks, on his very competence and ability to do his job…it makes his skin crawl.

He needs to be able to move through those vents tomorrow, and he needs to do so quickly and easily. Not just for the sake of the family or the heist, but for himself. He needs to prove to himself that he still belongs around master criminals like Buddy Aurinko and Jet Siquliak, and that he hasn’t become a dead weight hanging on the neck of the group like he so often felt while bedridden by his broken leg.

So he ignores the pain and keeps stretching.

By the time an hour has passed his breath is coming out in short bursts and his whole body burns, but he convinces himself that it’s the good kind of burn, the kind that proves he’s working hard enough.

He falls into one of the last stretches: a split. He recalls it being so easy, once, that he’d do it on stake outs when he was bored. Now even getting his legs completely flat is an agonizing struggle. He manages it in the end, but it takes too long, and he can’t stop picturing himself ruining tomorrow’s heist by being too slow. He can’t be too slow.

He closes his eyes and grabs his right leg, pulling it back as far as it can go. He can do this. He used to be able to do this, so he has to still be able to now, he _has_ to-

The next thing he knows, he’s sprawled on the ground in a limp tangle of limbs, and his hip is on fire.

He lets out an involuntary groan, struggling to process what just happened. He must have pulled something, upset some ligament somewhere. The thought that he could do that just by stretching is…frustrating, to say the least.

It’s only when he tries to stand up that he realizes something is very wrong. The pain comes all at once, white hot and stabbing, and he doesn’t have a choice in the matter when his legs give out under him like a newborn deer’s and he collapses back into a sitting position. He hisses a curse through his teeth and focuses on his own breathing, trying not to panic.

He feels a lot of things, then: Anger at the situation. Regret that he did the stretches at all. Fear about tomorrow, and whether whatever is wrong with him is going to heal in time for him to still be of use.

Mostly, though, he feels betrayed. This is the body he’s lived in his whole life. It hasn’t always been treated kindly, by himself or others, but he’s tried to do right by it. He’s cleaned it, fed it, had scars lasered off of it. Why is it giving up on him now?

And what good is he if he loses control over it?

He wants to yell and cry and throw a tantrum over how unfair it all is, but instead he sits with his back against the barre and just breathes, because there is nothing else he can do. Eventually the pain in his hip fades from a raging forest fire to a steady bonfire and he can think properly again, just in time for the door to the exercise room to open.

“Jet? …He’s not here. Whoa. Weird. I never get here first.”

It’s a familiar voice. It’s a lovely voice, the loveliest Nureyev has ever heard in his life. It’s also the last one he wanted to hear right now.

He hopes for one long, pathetic moment that Juno will just turn around and leave again without seeing him, but of course he doesn’t. He yawns, sets down his bag, and then his detective’s eye immediately notices the barres out of their default position before flickering down to rest on…

“Nureyev!” Juno frowns and hurries over to him. “What are you still doing here? You’re always gone before Jet and I show up.”

“Perhaps I hoped I’d see you,” Nureyev says meekly.

“…Why are you on the floor?”

“Just finished my routine. I’m taking a break.”

“On the floor.”

“Whyever not?”

Nureyev watches Juno’s eye sweep over him and swallows. He can imagine what a mess he must look like now, sweaty and weak with his hair spilling out from his headband and his glasses lopsided. He can only hope that the lady passes his appearance off as the result of a hard workout and nothing more.

From the look on Juno’s face, the hope is in vain. He’s wearing that infuriating expression of his that he tends to get on missions, when he’s deducing something but hasn’t actually come to a conclusion about what said deduction means yet. “You’re always gone before Jet and I show up,” he repeats. “Because…because you don’t like anyone but me seeing you without makeup.”

“Jet isn’t here, is he? It’s just you and I.”

“You had no way of knowing I’d be a few minutes early today, or even that I’d be here at all.”

“Well, dear detective?” Nureyev says, and the pet name comes out less fond and more wry than usual. “What do you _deduce,_ then?”

“I don’t…I’m not deducing anything. I just wanna know what’s wrong. Are you okay? Is it your leg?”

Nureyev falls silent for a moment, thinking, and then decides to take Juno up on the excuse he has just so kindly and unintentionally offered. “…Yes, well, you were right. I think I should stick to Vespa’s physical therapy plan for the time being. I cut my workout short and decided to take a rest because I could tell the stretches were wearing on my leg and I didn’t want to injure myself this close to the heist.”

_Too late for that._

Juno looks convinced, at least, if still a little wary. “Oh. That’s good. I’m…still not sure you should be doing the heist at all, though.”

Neither is Nureyev, now. If this irritating injury slows him down, he could end up jeopardizing everything.

But what’s the alternative?

They only have a 24 hour window in which they can infiltrate the building, and that’s tomorrow. He’s the only one of them capable of getting through the vents. Not only that, but the idea of facing Captain Aurinko and telling her that he can’t do it after already being useless in the field the past two months…

Suddenly, he can’t stand it.

“I’m doing the heist,” he says firmly. “My leg may protest against being stretched in odd directions, but I can still walk and climb perfectly well.”

Juno scratches the back of his neck, brows furrowed in that irritatingly endearing way of his. “If you say so. You know your body better than I do. If you’re sure it’ll be okay…I trust you.” He glances at the clock on his comms. “Jet’ll be showing up any minute. Wanna get out of here?”

Nureyev feels a buzz of affection fill his chest. Juno’s been trying to help him get better at letting himself be seen without makeup, but at the same time knows when to let it go and offer an out if he really doesn’t want to be seen. Nureyev’s never been cared for or known by anyone else to that extent- he’s never allowed himself to be, before Juno.

In the present moment, however, his bare face is the last thing on his mind, and the hand Juno is offering to help him up terrifies him more than it comforts him.

“Yeah. I do.”

He takes one precious moment to breathe and prepare himself, and then he grasps Juno’s hand.

It takes every ounce of restraint and will in him to keep his face passive as he stands up. The forest fire on his hip is back, raging through his body. He bites back a whimper and arranges himself into as casual of a stance as he can muster.

Some ounce of the pain must still peek through the disguise despite his immense effort, however, because Juno says, “You good, babe?”

“Mm. Sore, that’s all.”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your room?”

“No,” Nureyev says, too quickly. “No, you…you stay here, have your work out with Jet. I’ll see you at later, love.”

“See you.”

The sleeping quarters aren’t far from the exercise room, but the walk there is quite possibly the most difficult that Nureyev has ever endured. As soon as he is out of Juno’s line of sight he allows himself to slow to a limp, but it doesn’t help much. Every step fans the flames and makes him hurt all the more.

After what feels like hours but must have been only minutes, he reaches the room. He immediately slams the door shut behind him and all but collapses onto the bed. It’s still covered in his clothes, rendered practically unusable in its messiness- hence why he’s spent the entirety of the last week sleeping in Juno’s room- but right now he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter that he’s wrinkling one of his nicest suits by putting his head on it, or that a corner of a book is jutting into his ribcage. All that matters is that he doesn’t have to move anymore.

He holes himself up there for the rest of the morning, grateful that he’s built up a reputation for locking himself away in his room to study during the days that precede heists, as it means no one questions his absence. He wishes he could actually study now, but he finds himself unable to do more than lie on the bed, occasionally vainly shifting in an attempt to discover a position that won’t hurt. He doesn’t find one.

When the pain finally dies down to a manageable ache, it is both a huge relief and a transition to a different kind of torture. The one upside to the agony was that it addled his brain to the point that he could think of nothing else. Now that he can breathe again, he is plagued with reminders of what the pain means: how useless it reveals him to be. How fragile. How much of a liability, to himself and to the crew and to the galaxy.

He gets a message on his comms from Juno around midday: _Hey, babe. How are you? Want me to bring you lunch?_

Nureyev can’t help the smile that flits across his face as he reads it. He takes a deep breath. This is the test: has he recovered to the point that he is able to get up, pop some pain relief pills, and rearrange himself and his room to look like he’s been studying well enough that even his dear detective will believe it?

Yes, it turns out. He _is_ capable of it, though not without feeling like he might vomit from the pain as he does so. It may have dulled to an ache when he’s not moving, but that certainly isn’t the case when he stands up. Every step he takes feels like it’s driving a knife further and further into the top of his thigh.

 _This is bad,_ he realizes vaguely.

He dry swallows the pills, grabs the plans from his desk, and falls back into bed. It’s only after he texts Juno telling him that he’s free to come in that he realizes that he never changed out of his exercise outfit, which he knows Juno will notice and deem out of character. Thankfully he has a plethora of clothes already sprawled across the bed to choose from. He pulls off his tank top and tosses it in a random corner before pulling on the button-down that had been lying under one of his pillows. He makes a short-lived attempt at removing his leggings before deciding that doing so hurts too much and simply pulling on a skirt over them.

Usually he’d make some attempt at cleaning before allowing Juno into his room, but he doesn’t have it in him right now. It’s either let him see the room how it is, or not let him in at all, and Nureyev knows the latter would be much more suspicious.

So when Juno knocks on the door, he simply forces himself into what he hopes looks like a normal position for someone who is currently studying and certainly did _not_ injure himself in the most embarrassing way possible because his body is failing him, and invites him in.

“Hey, Nurey- oh. Whoa.”

Nureyev rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to lecture me, spare it. You know how I get before heists. I just…haven’t had the time to clean.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t realize it was even possible for this place to get messier than the last time I saw it,” Juno says. “I don’t know how you can even think like this. It’d drive me mad.”

“Mm, well, it takes more than a little mess to distract me from my work,” Nureyev says, pointedly writing a note on one of the maps sprawled out on the covers in front of him.

“A _little_ mess- okay, okay. Whatever. I’m letting it go. I brought you a sandwich, though, so…is there anywhere for me to set it down?”

“Just hand it to me.”

Juno does so, then hovers in the doorway. “How’s the prep going?”

“I’ve memorized the entire schematic of the vent system, and mapped out multiple optimal paths to the target location, as well as numerous exit strategies. Everything should go smoothly tomorrow.”

“Oh. Good work.”

Juno’s eye flickers to the schematic and then trails across the bed, taking in the mounds of clothes and dog-eared books that all but obscure it. Nureyev knows what he’s thinking, knows that he’s looking at the mess and seeing something more behind it. He knows the lady’s next words are going to be a question: _Are you okay?_

He doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t tell the truth, and he’s getting tired of lying.

“Thank you for the sandwich,” he says, just as Juno opens his mouth. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d better get back to it.”

Juno looks reluctant to leave. “If you want me to help you clean, I can,” he says slowly.

“Juno-”

“It’s just that…I know it can get overwhelming.”

“What can?”

“I donno. Living. I spent a long time coming home to a messy apartment because it all just seemed like too much and I didn’t know where to start. I only realized how badly being in that environment had been affecting me once Rita insisted on coming over and deep cleaning it with me. I never could have managed it without her help, and once we finished it was like…I could breathe again.”

Nureyev’s chest once again aches with love for this lady. He can see just how badly Juno wants to help him, even though he doesn’t understand what it is Nureyev actually needs help with. Nureyev wants to let him. He wants to let Juno believe that a clean room would be enough to also untangle the mess that’s making its home in Nureyev’s mind.

It’s a nice thought.

Nureyev smiles at him. “Thank you for the offer, Juno. Can we…talk about it more after the heist?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Juno has to step around stacks of books and toppled heels like he’s running an obstacle course before he can reach the bed to press a kiss to Nureyev’s lips, but for once he doesn’t complain about it. “Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

Nureyev just chuckles. “You know me. I have to do this now, but once the heist’s over…Well, I have several plans for how to de-stress, don’t worry.”

“Safe to assume I factor into those plans?”

“Every single one, my love.”

The soft smile that crosses Juno’s face is bright enough to light up the whole room. Nureyev wants to bask in its light forever. “Cool. Uh, good. See you later, then. Message me if you need anything.”

“Of course.”

He does attempt to get some actual studying done after Juno leaves. He already memorized the schematics last night, but lately his memory has been giving him more trouble than usual, and the last thing he needs is to worsen his chances at successfully completing the heist even more.

The attempts are mostly fruitless, however. He gets maybe two serious run-throughs of the vents down before the ‘drowsiness’ side effect of the pain meds overtakes him and he drifts off.

When he wakes again, the plans are stuck to the side of his face and the lights have dimmed to their evening setting. He blearily pulls the paper from his cheek and checks his comms to discover that it’s almost dinner time. Did he really sleep for that long?! It feels like such a waste. Even sleeping all the way through the night feels like a waste to him, but to sleep through most of the _day_ …It’s mortifying.

Thankfully he has no missed calls and the absence of any change in the detritus around his door signals that it hasn’t been opened since Juno left, so none of the others have any reason to believe he hasn’t spent the past hours working.

Even more relieving is that the pain in his hip has now lessened to a prickle. The pain still flairs up when he moves the wrong way, but it’s no longer debilitating.

The walk to the table for dinner is hard, especially the section that he has to walk in view of the others and so has to suppress even the slightest hint of a grimace, but once he’s sat down it’s all right and he’s able to join in the conversation with everyone else. If he acts a little strained, it can easily be passed off as pre-heist nerves.

“You ready for this, Ransom?” Vespa growls at him when they’ve all finished eating and are about to go their separate ways, with orders from Buddy to get as much rest as possible before having to rise at five in the morning for prep. “I’m about as happy about it as the next guy, but we’re really relying on you for this one. Don’t fuck it up.”

Nureyev puts on his smoothest voice and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He lingers behind the others as they leave, surreptitiously propping himself up on the back of his chair. His hopes that he’ll be able to make the walk to his room alone and therefore limp as slowly as he pleases are dashed, however, when Juno also hangs back.

The lady gives him a friendly nudge. “Hey. Why don’t you sleep at mine again tonight? Your bed looked…well, practically uninhabitable. We all need a good rest, like Buddy said. Somehow I don’t think sleeping on top of piles of clothes is super conducive to that.”

He’s right, of course. Nureyev considers the offer. He really is feeling much better than he did this morning, and perhaps Juno being by his side will help alleviate some of his anxieties. It’s worth a shot, anyway, and he knows it will make Juno happy. “Excellent idea, love. I’ll join you, then.”

Juno grins as Nureyev links their arms, and if Nureyev leans ever so slightly into him for support as they walk back to his room, he doesn’t seem to take it as anything more than affectionate clinging.

Once they’re in bed the together, however, Nureyev finds himself completely unable to get comfortable. The meds are starting to wear off, and every position he shifts into just exacerbates the pain. Juno notices his discomfort and puts a warm hand on his cheek.

“Nervous, babe?” he says. “Can’t imagine Vespa’s threat from earlier helped. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s quite all right. She was correct, after all. It’s very important that I do not fail this.”

“Yeah, but I mean…even if you did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“I’m not going to fail, Juno.”

“I know, I know! I’m just saying!”

Nureyev smiles at him. “I’ll settle soon, don’t worry. I’m sorry if I’m keeping you up. I can always go back-”

“Nope. No way are you returning to that nightmare of a room. You’re staying right here.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Juno removes his hand and presses his lips to Nureyev’s cheek instead. There’s a glimmer in his eye that Nureyev recognizes, and he can guess what’s going to come next. “How about I distract you from your nerves? It’s worked before.”

Nureyev can’t resist a chuckle. “It certainly has.” There are few distractions more total than the feeling of Juno’s hands and mouth on him, and there have been several nights the past few months that he’s only been able to fall asleep at all after having been utterly exhausted by his lady love.

Juno kisses him again on the lips, gently moving to straddle him. The feeling of Juno’s sturdy thighs on either side of his torso is as intoxicating as ever, and Nureyev bites his lip as the heady fog of arousal begin to fill his brain, taking up all the room usually occupied by anxiety and self-doubt. Right now, tomorrow might as well not exist. There is nothing in the universe other than himself and Juno and the electricity between them.

Then Juno wraps his arms around him and rolls with him so that he’s on top and Juno is below, and somewhere along the way his hip must twist wrong, because suddenly he’s in white-hot agony.

A stronger man would have bitten back the cry that Nureyev lets out. A stronger man wouldn’t have hung his head, gasping and screwing up his face. A stronger man could have hidden it all and kept going.

Nureyev, as today has proven to him over and over, is not a very strong man.

“Nureyev!” Juno scrambles out from under him and stands up, leaving him hunched on the bed alone, his hands making clawed fists in the blankets as he attempts to breathe through the pain. “What happened?”

“S- Sorry,” he murmurs. “Damn it all. Must have…pulled a muscle. I apologize for the melodramatic display. I’m quite all right.”

“You didn’t sound all right.”

“Yes, well, I am.” It is only in this moment that Nureyev realizes they can’t continue their previous activity or Juno will find out what’s wrong for certain. He has to convince Juno he’s well enough for the heist while also steering them away from intimacy, and that is not going to be an easy balancing act.

Juno sits back down on the bed and puts a hand on his knee. “You’re sure?”

“First insisting on cleaning my room, and now this? You’re not my parent, Juno.” Nureyev means it to be teasing, but in his pain it comes out harsh and biting.

Juno looks taken aback. “I…just want to help.”

“Well, sometimes there’s nothing to help with. Not everything needs fixing, dear detective.” He hates the expression of confusion tinged with hurt that crosses Juno’s face, but perhaps it’s better this way. Juno certainly won’t want to continue things if he’s mad at him.

Juno doesn’t seem mad, though, which is somehow even worse. He just looks concerned. “It’s not too late to call off tomorrow, you know.”

“We’re leaving at five in the morning and I am integral to our infiltration, so yes, I believe it’s too late.” Nureyev sighs. A part of him wants to make a show of walking out and going to sleep in his own room, but a bigger part of him knows he won’t be able to make it there in his current condition, and the last thing that’s going to convince Juno that he’s all right is collapsing in the hallway. Instead he just lies back down on the bed, his back to the lady.

There’s a quiet, loaded moment, and then Juno lies down beside him. A hand reaches out to stroke his shoulder, but it isn’t suggesting anything. It’s just comforting. Nureyev reaches his own hand up to grip it like a lifeline.

How is it that Juno always knows the right thing to do, even when he has no idea what’s really going on?

Memories flash through Nureyev’s mind from the past year, of times when he’d just gotten a call on his burner comms and was filled with so much dread he thought he might choke, but then Juno was there. Juno was always there to anchor him, to keep him safe in his arms without even knowing what he was keeping him safe from.

“I’m sorry,” Nureyev manages. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Juno says. “You’re gonna be okay, baby.”

And when he hears it from Juno’s mouth, he can almost believe it. When he hears it from Juno’s mouth, he can almost forget the pain coursing through his body, and all his fears about tomorrow. He can almost forget the way it feels like the universe is falling apart around him and bringing down everything he’s ever taken pride in with it.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeere's where the actual conceit of this fic comes in haha. Enjoy!
> 
> CWs for enclosed spaces/being trapped (duh), past child abuse (by Mag) and just sorta...general Nureyev not having a good brain time and being very hard on himself.

It hurts less the next morning.

Nureyev takes as much comfort as he can in that when he pulls himself out of Juno’s bed and hurries back to his room to change and down more pain relievers. It still hurts, but not as much. He can deal with that. He’s delt with much worse, in the past.

He slips into the black, breathable catsuit he’ll be wearing during the heist, trying to also take comfort in how well it hugs his figure. He doesn’t get to wear it often, since he usually plays roles that require extravagant costumes to help fool marks. This time, though, no one will see him at all- assuming everything goes right.

He’ll move through the vents like a shadow and be in and out of the security room before the staff at the facility even know what hit them. He only needs to be in the room for a couple of minutes, to flip all the manual switches that even Rita’s programming can’t reach. Their intel informs them that there won’t even be any guards present, convinced as they are that no one untoward could possibly reach the room in the first place.

Nureyev feels a surge of pride at the way Juno looks him up and down before they pile into the Ruby 7.

He raises a smug eyebrow. “Yes, dear?”

“You. Uh. You look good in that.”

“This old thing? You flatter me.”

“Oh, barf,” Vespa says. “Ransom, you look ridiculous. Can you even move in that?!”

He feigns offense. “Of course I can. It was designed for maximum flexibility, in fact.”

“Whatever. As long as you get in and out of there quickly, I guess you can look as much like second rate dominatrix while doing it as you want to.”

“Not even first rate?” Nureyev says. “How hurtful.”

He doesn’t feel _calm_ , per se, on the way to the pharmaceutical facility that is their target today, but he does feel calmer than he did last night. Now that he’s less worried about his hip, though, he has the opportunity to worry about…the other thing.

Juno must see him stiffen at the thought, because he puts a hand on his knee. “You’ve got this. Buddy says the vents are the same height and width everywhere in the facility, so they’ll never be too narrow for you. You’ll be okay.”

It’s a reassuring thought, and he nods at Juno gratefully, choosing not to speak in case his voice decides to waver. Showing vulnerability in front of Juno is bad enough, but he’s certainly not going to show it while in a car with the rest of the family, who already dislike and distrust him enough as it is.

No, that isn’t fair. He knows it isn’t. Only Vespa still seems to actively dislike him, and if she or the others distrust him…well, it’s only what he deserves. He knows that. It shouldn’t sting, the way Buddy always looks at him like she’s trying to see an ulterior motive behind his actions, or the way Jet refuses to call him anything other than ‘thief’.

It still does, a little.

His momentary lapse into unjustified self-pity is broken through when Buddy puts a hand on his shoulder next to the facility and fixes him with a smile. “I wouldn’t have allowed you to do this task if I didn’t believe you fully capable of it, darling.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” he can’t resist replying.

“Oh, certainly not. A master thief would never admit to such a weakness as self-doubt,” she says, her eye sparkling. “Nonetheless, on the rare off chance that said master thief might also be a human being, I thought it worth saying.”

He hesitates, then swallows his pride and nods. “Thank you, Captain.”

Juno kisses him before they part and he kisses back hard, wishing it could go on forever and trying not to think about what has to happen when it ends. Finally Vespa’s gagging noises interrupt them and they break away from each other. Juno gives him one last smile and squeezes his hand, a reassurance without words.

Then Nureyev is left to scale the fence into the facility alone.

He lands heavily on the other side, and feels it like a javelin in his hip. He’s able to mute his comms just in time to let out an undignified gasp of pain without anyone hearing it. He takes a moment to steady himself, then unmutes the comms and gives his report.

“I’m on the other side. I…I can see the entrance to the vents.”

“Are you able to reach it?” Buddy asks.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be able to scale the side of the building, like we planned.”

“Excellent.”

He braces himself for more pain and makes the climb up. His body howls in protest, but he ignores it. He’s almost looking forward to entering the vent now, because at least doing so will give him a moment to rest.

He uses the device Jet and Rita devised together to detach the vent cover from the wall and then slips inside, silent as a cat.

“I’m in,” he whispers.

“Very good,” Buddy says in his ear.

“Do you recall the way to the security room?” Jet’s ever-steady voice inquires.

Nureyev has a moment of panic, realizing he didn’t spent last night going over the plans again and again like he usually would have, before the information floods back into his mind. If anything, it comes to him more easily than it has in previous heists.

Perhaps that thing Jet once told him about sleep being good for the memory had some truth to it, after all.

“I do,” he replies. “I remember every potential exit strategy as well.”

“Hell yeah!” Juno lets out a triumphant shout. “We’re in business! _Told_ you he’d be fine, Vespa.”

Nureyev feels himself smile as Juno and Vespa start bickering, the warmth of pride and relief flooding through him. He made it. The vent is tight, but not oppressively so. He can do this.

“Very good work, Ransom,” Buddy says. “Keep moving. We’ll start on our jobs, now. Call if you need anything, and we’ll update you if there are any changes in plan.”

The line goes dead.

Everything is suddenly very, very quiet, with nothing to focus on but the smell of the stale air in the vent and the sound of his own breathing. He has half a mind to call the others back and ask them to continue talking to him, but he knows they can’t. They have their own work to do, and it’s potentially much more dangerous than his own. He can’t distract them just because he’s being pathetic.

He conjures up the schematics in his mind and forces himself to think of only them, the directions playing through his head like a mantra:

_Right. Right. Left. Right. Straight. Left. Left. Left again. Right. You’re above the office on the first floor now. Left. Right. Straight. Right._

He has to focus on them, because if he doesn’t he’ll start remembering other things. He’ll remember hours spent in a closet where he’d been ordered to hide by Mag. He’ll remember the way he was scolded for the state he was in when he was finally let out, because _Fear is a weakness, Pete, and a thief can’t afford to be claustrophobic._

He’ll remember a Martian birthing chamber miles under the ground. He’ll remember being trapped in a robot body in a server farm about to be destroyed, trapped in a cast, trapped in debt-

_Right. Right. Left._

In a way, the pain of his injury is almost welcome. It is a grounding force, a reminder that he’s here and alive and not back in any of his memories.

_Left. Right. Straight._

It can’t be much further. He knows it isn’t much further. He reaches the maintenance ladder that signals a change in floors and climbs onto it, grateful for the ever so slight increase in space it provides him. He allows himself a moment on it, just hanging on the rungs and breathing in and out. He takes his panic and his irrational fears and shoves them into a filing cabinet in his mind, forcing the drawer closed and locking it.

_“You’ll be okay.”_

He may not have Juno’s voice in his ear right now, but he has it in his mind, a reminder of comfort and safety and everything he has waiting for him on the other side of this. He lets himself have just one more second, and then he moves to step down the ladder.

He must have overextended his leg as he did, because suddenly his hip is shot through with pain. He loses his footing and then-

Everything happens so quickly that he can’t even process it. All he knows is that his hands, slick with sweat, are suddenly no longer on the rungs. Then he’s falling, trying desperately to grab hold of anything as he tumbles downward, his body battered between the ladder and the side of the maintenance tunnel.

There’s an impact against a hard, uneven surface, and he is still- transformed in the space of a few seconds from a master thief to a limp rag doll, every part of his body ablaze in pain.

He stays still for a long moment. The wind was knocked out of him somewhere on the way down and now all he can do is gasp for breath and attempt to see through the spots clouding in front of his eyes. It’s at least twenty seconds before he can even begin to register where he is or how he got there.

He’s at the bottom of the vertical maintenance tunnel, on top of a metal fan. He takes a moment to thank the gods of luck that the fan isn’t moving. He can only imagine what state he’d be in if had been turned on when he fell- likely a very bloody one. He doesn’t want to think about that.

He pulls himself up with a groan. For one dazed, vain moment, all he can manage to feel is annoyance that he’s inevitably going to be covered in ugly bruises after this, and that Juno will have to see him like that. Then he looks up and realizes he has a much more dire problem.

The ladder stops halfway down the maintenance shaft.

He can see where he was meant to debark from it and continue on through the vents, and the ladder stops there, at least twelve feet above him.

It takes most of his remaining strength and willpower to drag himself to his feet, and then fight through the pain to stretch his hand upwards as far as he can, standing on the tips of his toes. He can’t reach. He clenches his teeth and jumps, desperately grasping for the bottom rung of the ladder.

He still can’t reach it.

It’s only now that the implications of this slowly begin to sink in, the realization creeping like poison through his veins. He can’t reach it, which means he’s trapped.

His fingers tremble as he activates his comms and calls the others.

It’s Vespa who picks up, because of course it is. “Ransom? What is it? This better be good news, because we’re in the middle of a shit show right now. Steel and Siquliak are fighting their way through the guards at the front, but if you don’t deactivate the security systems from inside soon, it won’t matter how many goons they’ve taken down-”

“It’s not good news,” he says, expending all his remaining emotional fortitude to keep his voice level.

“Oh, of course it isn’t! What, you read the schematics upside down or something and go the wrong way?”

Nureyev can’t help but let out a noise of disbelief at that, offended she’d even suggest that he’s capable of such an error. “Of course not. I memorized everything perfectly. That is not the issue.”

“Well, spit it out, then. What _is_ the issue?”

“I’m…stuck.”

“What? How?” she scoffs. “Bud, Ransom says he’s stuck!”

The familiar lilting tones of Buddy’s voice arrive in the call. “Ransom, that’s impossible. The vents are a regulation size, so if you can fit down one, you can fit down all of them. The only exceptions are the vertical maintenance corridors, which are actually wider than the vents themselves-”

“It’s the maintenance corridors that are the problem, I’m afraid, Captain,” Nureyev says through gritted teeth. “I’m at the bottom of one right now, and I…I can’t get out.”

“How did you manage that?!” Vespa says incredulously.

“I fell.” He swallows. Lying is pointless here. There’s no explanation he can give that won’t make him seem like an incompetent, lumbering fool. “From the maintenance ladder. And I’m…not in a position that I can reach it again to pull myself up.”

“You’re absolutely certain there’s no other way? You can’t climb up?”

A younger version of him- and one without an injured hip, a newly healed leg and a watercolor painting of bruises blooming under his clothes- might have been able to. This version of him, though…Nureyev doesn’t even have to make an attempt to know he’s incapable. “I can’t, Captain. I apologize.”

She lets out a sigh. “Well, this certainly complicates things.” He hears the beeping sound that accompanies others being added to the call. “Juno, Jet. Attempt a retreat now, if you can.”

“What!?” comes Juno’s voice, shouted over the sound of blaster fire. “We can’t back out yet! We haven’t gotten what we came for!”

“I’m afraid the mission has failed. Ransom is incapacitated and will be unable to shut off the security defenses, so you must retreat.”

 _“What?”_ Juno says again, but his tone has changed from indignant to worried. “Incapacitated?! What the hell does that mean? Is he all right?!”

“I’m perfectly fine, love, thank you,” Nureyev says, though he feels lightyears away from fine. “Just in a bit of a predicament, is all.”

“I can’t believe this,” Vespa spits. “All that prep for nothing, because this useless creep had to go and _fall off a ladder_ in the middle of the heist. It’ll be weeks before we get another chance to steal the card! Maybe months!”

Nureyev slouches in on himself, feeling sick to his stomach. Usually when Vespa expresses her distaste for him he makes some attempt to defend his own honor, but he can’t this time. She’s right. He _has_ ruined the entire mission with a single, stupid mistake.

And now he’s trapped.

Trapped at the bottom of a dark, narrow tunnel, without enough room to so much as lie down. He can do nothing but sit crumpled against the wall, the blades of the fan below him digging into his skin. Even when his knees are drawn to his chest they brush the other side. It’s too tight, too close, and he’s going to be stuck in here for…

How long?

Even if the others want to rescue him, and they shouldn’t want to, they can’t. He’s in the section of the building that’s protected by the very security systems he was meant to be turning off. While they’re still on, the place is a death trap. They can’t reach him.

Perhaps that’s for the best. Rotting in a maintenance shaft in a pharmaceutical building would be a fitting end for a thief who’s lost his touch. It’s suitably undignified for someone as worthless as he is. He leans his head against the cold metal of the wall and closes his eyes. The family is better off without him around, clearly. Vespa and Jet will likely be relieved to finally be rid of him, and without even having to suffer the embarrassment of asking him to leave. Buddy and Rita will be fine, too.

Juno…

Juno is perfectly capable of living without him, that much is clear. He walked out and spent a year away from him, then came back with a brighter eye and a wider smile. He didn’t get better while he was with Nureyev. He got better without him. Doubtless he will again; he will continue to improve and grow into the soft, happy person he has always deserved to be, and he will do so without Nureyev at his side.

Quite right, too.

“Pete? You still with us?” Buddy asks in his ear.

 _Pete,_ she says, and suddenly he’s back on Brahma again. He’s been locked in another storage closet, but this time it’s a punishment. This time it’s a lesson. Mag ignores him as he pounds on the door begging to be let out, and says, _“Come, kid. Quit crying. You need to learn to get over this.”_

Then there are other memories, from even before that. Memories of a childhood spent on the streets, fighting for every meal under a sky that longed to turn him into a scorch mark on the pavement. There were a thousand times he could have given up back then. He almost did, when the guards came for him on New Kinshasa. Even then, though, there had always been some spark inside his chest that refused to go out.

It was a spark that whispered, _I don’t want to die._

He deserves to, certainly. He has no doubt about that. Perhaps he has no future, perhaps his body will continue to break down and he can never be a thief again. Perhaps he’s a failure and a burden on the rest of the crew. But…

“I don’t want to die,” he whimpers into his comms. “Please get me out of here.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and then Buddy says, “Of course. Hold tight, Peter. We’re coming to get you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter aka "Peter Nureyev has a panic attack ASMR", will be out tomorrow. Thank you for reading and kudos/comments are so, so appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any new CWs for this chapter, but be mindful of the ones from the previous chapters, and enjoooy ~

Nureyev doesn’t hear their plans to get him out; they have that discussion off-comms. He just sits in silence, slumped against the wall of maintenance corridor.

He doesn’t want to die.

He does sort of want to sink into the floor so that he never has to be seen again by anyone, and certainly not by the very people he just let down so horrifically.

He knew that his mind and body were failing him, that he isn’t the thief that he used to be, but _this-_ well, this is on a whole other level entirely. They’re fools for trying to retrieve him at all, and if they don’t at least fire him after this they’re even worse fools than that. The part of him insisting that he doesn’t deserve to be saved is now locked in battle with the part that desperately needs to get out of this hole as soon as possible.

He takes a breath, and doing so is much harder than he remembers it being. Is he losing air? No, that’s impossible. The vents are…vents, there’s always air running through them.

Unless, of course, someone had discovered his presence and retaliated by cutting off the air flow.

He activates his comms and calls Buddy. “Captain, forgive me, and I ask this while knowing perfectly well that you are within your rights to leave me here for as long as you please, forever if you so choose-”

She interrupts his nervous rambling. “It’s going to be a moment, Pete. Can’t give you an exact time frame yet. Juno and Jet are still retreating, and we need to make sure they’ve safely exited the building and the guards can’t spot us before we act.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Hang tight,” she says, and ends the call.

 _Hang tight._ Those were her words, but in the moment they feel like a death sentence. He’s certain now that there’s less air in here than there was before. He tries to do calculations in his mind to figure out how much time he might have left, but it’s impossible when he doesn’t know from what point the vents have been closed off.

His heart is pounding in his ears. He gasps for breath, clawing at his throat. He needs to get out of here now, or he’s going to die.

He shakily raises a hand to activate his comms. “Captain…”

“Darling, you’re going to have to give us a moment. I promise we’re coming, but-”

“You have to come now. They’ve blocked off the vents, and I’m losing air. I don’t have time.”

“We have eyes on the vent entrance that you went in through. It’s still uncovered.”

“They must have closed them off somewhere inside, then,” Nureyev chokes out. “I- I can feel it. There’s not enough air. You have to-”

Buddy interrupts him. “Ransom, you’re not suffocating. It takes over five hours to use up all the air in a six by six space pod. Believe me, I know from experience. Even if they had closed you in, you wouldn’t notice any difference yet.”

“Perhaps they’re siphoning the air out, then.”

“They don’t even know you’re in there. The vents are a blind spot for them; we made sure of that. As far as the guards are aware, Jet and Juno are the only ones attacking them.”

“Then _why_ can’t I-”

“You’re not losing air, thief,” Vespa growls. “You can’t breathe because you’re having a panic attack.”

Nureyev blinks.

That can’t be right, though. Every part of him is screaming at him, telling him he’s dying. It’s a primary function of the human body, to inform the brain when its in danger. He’s felt it in the past, when poisoned or starving or trapped.

Trapped, like he is now.

His head is swimming. It’s not only that there isn’t enough air, either, it’s…were the walls always this close? Surely they’re closer now. They’re moving to crush him, and any second now he is going to be nothing more than an ugly smear of blood against the metal. A thief without a name, without a home, and soon without even a body to bury.

“Ransom, are you there?” Buddy asks, and he realizes she’s been talking for a long time and he hasn’t heard any of it.

“W-what?”

“Juno and Jet have successfully retreated and the perimeter is clear, so we’re coming for you now,” she says with the exasperation of someone who’s repeating themselves. “I need you to do something for us. On my signal, you must recite the directions you followed when you were moving through the vents.”

From a purely logical standpoint he understands her words, but something in his brain still isn’t computing. Don’t they understand the urgency of the situation? Don’t they understand that he’s going to be dead in minutes, of oxygen deprivation or being crushed or something equally unsavory?

“I…I don’t…”

“The directions you followed just a few minutes ago, Ransom. I know you still remember them. You have to recite them.”

He wants to do as she asks but he can’t focus, can’t think of anything except the fact that _he’s stuck here and he’s going to die._ He breath is coming is short, shallow gasps. He kicks at the walls and slams his fists into them, but all that does is worsen the pain he’s already in and remind him how small his range of movement is at present.

“Please,” he begs, “just get me out.”

“We can’t do that if you don’t tell us where you are.”

“Fuck!” He flinches at Vespa’s shout in his ear. “This is pointless, Bud. He’s freaking out. He’s not going to be able to do it.”

“He has to.”

“Tell that to him, then, because right now-”

A new voice cuts in, interrupting Vespa. “Can I talk to him?”

“Juno,” Nureyev whispers, and suddenly he’s flooded with relief. He’s going to die, yes, but at least he’ll get to speak to Juno before he does. At least the last thing he’ll hear will be that voice.

“Might as well,” Vespa says. “Go ahead, Steel.”

Suddenly the others are silent and there is only Juno in his ear, saying, “Hey, babe.” The word makes Nureyev’s heart clench.

He remembers a night many months ago now, when Juno had complained about pet names. “ _All right, they sound okay when you say them, but when I do it’s just awkward. I don’t need to call you ‘baby’ or whatever to prove that I like you.”_ He’d used them on occasion after that, but always with a lilt of irony tinging his voice, as though he was just participating in some sort of inside joke.

Then one day Nureyev tripped on his crutches, and Juno only just caught him before he went tumbling to the floor. _“Are you all right, honey?”_ he asked.

Nureyev had stared at him, slightly awed. _“…You called me honey.”_

_“Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done that.”_

_“You didn’t…you said it seriously. Not like you were joking.”_

Juno looked sheepish. _“Yeah, I guess so. I donno. Pet names are ridiculous, but also…I don’t really like calling you Ransom, and I can’t call you by your real name in public, so…it’s kind of like a compromise, right? Uh, only if you’re okay with it.”_

_“Juno, my love, I’d like nothing more.”_

Nureyev almost smiles for a moment, at the warmth of that memory and the warmth of Juno’s voice, but then he remembers where he is and what’s happening. He remembers that he’s about to die, so he needs to make these moments count. “Juno, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. We all make mistakes. We’ll just have to regroup and make another plan to get the card.”

“No, I…I’m sorry that we didn’t get more time together. I’m sorry, and I need you to know that I love you,” he says, the words coming out in ragged gasps now. “More than…more than anything. There I things I haven’t told you, though, things you’re certain to find out eventually, so I need-”

“Okay, before you say something you regret, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Juno says. “You know I love you too, but there’s no need for a deathbed confession right now, ‘cause you’re not dying.”

“Juno, please just let me-”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. You’re not gonna die, Ransom. We’re getting you out of there, but to do that we need those directions.”

Even Nureyev can hear the tremble in his own voice now, the way it exits him like the dying rattle of an injured creature. “I- I can’t. The walls are so close, I don’t…I can’t move. I can’t think. Juno, _please.”_

“Shhh,” Juno hushes him gently. “You’re all right. I want you to breathe with me, okay?”

“Juno, I _can’t-”_

“In through your nose.” Juno counts down for five seconds, then says, “Now out through your mouth. Five more seconds.”

It feels wrong. It feels dangerous. If he’s running out of air, shouldn’t he try to breathe as shallowly as possible, not the opposite? He does it anyway, though, because Juno is telling him to do it.

“Close your eyes,” the lady instructs him, and once more he obliges. “You’re okay. You’re safe, and you’re going to be out of there soon. Keep breathing. In and out.”

They carry on like this for what might be five minutes or might be an hour. Juno never stops talking, keeping up a constant stream of gentle reassurances. More than his actual words, it’s his tone that calms Nureyev’s breathing and slows his racing heart to a reasonable pace. If Juno can be calm and collected in this situation, perhaps it isn’t so bad after all.

The walls still feel too close, he still feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of them, but he can finally think again.

“You still there?” Juno asks.

“Mm. Thank you, love.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shakes himself. “I…well, it seems I’m not going to die, at least.”

“You were never going to die.”

“Apparently not. I apologize for the…overreaction.”

“It’s okay. I mean, you’ve seen me when I have to be somewhere high up. We all have things that get to us.”

“I suppose so,” Nureyev says. Now that he’s calmed down slightly, he just feels exhausted. He’s hardly moved, but the weight of his own anxiety and fear have thoroughly worn him out.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then Juno says, “Babe?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think you can remember those directions now?”

Nureyev closes his eyes again, trying to bring up the image of the vent schematic in his mind. It takes a moment, but then it’s there, floating behind his eyelids in perfect clarity. “…Yes. Yes, I can.”

For the first time in however long, another voice cuts in on his comms. “Never thought I’d say it, but thank fuck for Steel,” Vespa says. “If the whole sharpshooter-detective thing doesn’t work out you can consider a secondary career as the resident Ransom whisperer.”

“Yeah, look, can we just get him out of there now?” Despite his relaxed demeanor when he was talking Nureyev down, there’s a slight waver in Juno’s voice as he says it.

“If he remembers, then…yeah, I guess we can.” Vespa clears her throat. Something about her voice sounds off too, as if she’s nervous about something, but Nureyev can’t even begin to fathom what. She certainly isn’t scared on his behalf; he knows her too well to ever think that. “Ransom, you ready? Got the directions in your head?”

“Yes, I do,” he replies shakily.

“All right.” There’s a moment of quiet, no sound over the comms other than the ruffling of clothes as someone moves, and then Vespa says, “Recite them slowly. One at a time.”

“…First…It’s a right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right again, then left.”

“Good,” she says. “Keep going.”

They continue this way for several minutes, him slowly detailing the passage he took as he remembers it. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t need to, and it takes him a moment to realize why:

He _trusts_ them.

He trusts the other members of their strange criminal family.

For some foolish, vulnerable reason, he believes that they do want to help him, and that they are going to. He believes that despite his horrific failure, they really aren’t going to let him die. He doesn’t understand how this could possibly be the case, but he believes it anyway.

So he shuts his eyes, imagines the vent schematics, and recites the directions- and after ten minutes a familiar rough voice calls out from above him.

“Ransom! Grab on!”

He looks up and sees a green-haired woman hanging from the maintenance ladder, holding out a scarred hand towards him. It takes him a moment before he’s able to register that she’s actually there and he hasn’t just hallucinated her.

“Vespa,” he breathes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “That’s my name. Now grab my fucking hand, will you? I want to get out of here.”

“Y-yes. All right.”

He summons all his remaining dredges of energy and uses it to jump. He only just manages to reach her wrist and wrap his hand around it, clinging to it like it’s a lifeline- which it is.

“Fucking hell, your nails are sharp,” she hisses.

There’s a terrifying moment where he thinks she might not be able to pull him up, but she’s stronger than she appears, and with one powerful heave she manages to lug him out of the hole and into the vent beside the ladder.

He stays collapsed there for a moment, gasping. He’s free, but he doesn’t feel free. It’s still such a long way out of the building, and…none of this makes any sense. If Vespa can get through the vents, why did he think he was the only one could do it? Is this even really happening, or is his addled mind just making it up?

When Vespa elbows him it feels real enough, he must admit.

“Come on,” she says. “Move it. You have to guide us back out.”

He feels like every part of his body is on fire as he slowly crawls up the ladder, but it doesn’t matter. He’s alive, and he’s not trapped anymore. He focuses on that and on the directions as he ever so slowly leads Vespa back through the vents.

When his brain has put itself back together enough to accept that all of this is really happening, he asks the question that’s been plaguing him. “How are you…here?”

“What do you mean? I crawled through, same as you. Followed your instructions.”

“I mean…I thought I was the only one…”

“You’re not the only one who’s _physically capable_ of going through the vents,” Vespa says. “I technically could have done this job if necessary, too. My name just wasn’t in the running because I’m claustrophobic, so I try not to do shit like this if I can help it.”

“…Oh.”

“You know, if you’d just told me you were claustrophobic too, we could have…drawn straws for it, or something. Tried to figure out another way.”

Nureyev hadn’t even factored that in as a possibility. He was capable of fitting in the vents, therefore he had to. The thought of telling the others that he was uncomfortable in tight spaces had never crossed his mind.

He considers this as they continue through the vents, relieved to be moving again. Relieved to be anywhere other than trapped at the bottom of a hole.

The relief only lasts so long, however, because as grateful as he is to be able to move, every meter that he crawls is more agonizing than the last. It gets harder and harder to think as the pain gets worse, his body slick with cold sweat and spots reappearing in front of his eyes. He pauses at a turn and realizes he’s completely lost track of where he’s going.

“Ransom?” Vespa hisses from behind him. “Why did you stop?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know which way.”

“You knew five minutes ago!”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t,” he says weakly.

She swears. “Fuck. Fuck, okay, um…” A low growl tears through her throat as she thinks, and then she says. “Left. We have to go left.”

“You…?”

“Shut up. I’m trying to remember the directions you gave me before and reverse them, and it isn’t fucking easy. …Take a right, now.”

Nureyev follows her instructions, dragging himself through the vents like a wounded animal. One thought rises above the pain that is drowning his mind to surface at the top: _If Vespa can get through the vents as well as I, and remember directions even better than I can, then what is the point of me?_

She checks in periodically with the rest of the crew as they move, but mostly they’re quiet, him distracted by the pain and fear and her focused on recalling how to get out. He’s certain he hears Juno’s voice in his ear at one point, encouraging him and asking if he’s all right, but he doesn’t respond. If he lets himself be distracted for even one moment, he’s certain that the pounding in his head and the aching in his body will overwhelm him.

It feels like a lifetime later that he sees the exit to the vents, the star-filled night sky blinking out at him like an invitation.

“We made it,” Vespa breathes, sounding just as awed by that fact as he feels.

If the climb up to the vent was hard, the climb down is nearly impossible. He does it on autopilot, letting years of experience in thieving guide him down the wall despite the protests ringing out from every part of him. It takes a long time, too long, but he finally finds himself standing on grass and breathing in fresh air.

Vespa follows him effortlessly, coming to a landing beside him with soft thud.

“Thank fucking god,” she says. “That was a nightmare.”

“N- _Ransom!”_

Nureyev looks up to see the rest of the crew on the other side of the fence. Juno has his fingers laced in the wires, a look of harrowed relief on his face as he meets his eyes. It’s been a long time since he last came close to messing up Nureyev’s alias like that. Nureyev wants to kiss the worry off his face, to hug him tight and never let go.

In that moment, looking at Juno and feeling safe for the first time since he entered the vents, it is as though whatever gossamer threads were desperately holding Nureyev aloft finally snap.

The last thing he sees as he crumples to the ground and his vision clouds over is Juno’s face. The last thing he thinks is _I’m sorry_ , because Juno looks so upset, which means he must have done something wrong again, and then-

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Next chapter will be the last. If this was the Peter Nureyev has an anxiety attack ASMR chapter, then the next one is Peter Nureyev has much needed conversations ASMR lol.


	4. Chapter 4

When Nureyev awakes, it’s to the familiar sterile smell of the Carte Blanche’s infirmary and soreness in every part of his body.

He spent way too many nights in here when recovering from his broken leg, and has less than fond memories of numerous near-mental breakdowns suffered in this very bed. His one solace during that time had been Juno’s unwavering presence, always there to support him both figuratively and literally.

When he looks over to the side of the bed, he almost expects the lady to be sitting there, giving him that soft smile of his.

As it turns out, there is a lady sitting at his side, but one who he must admit to being rather less fond of.

“Morning, dipshit,” Vespa says.

“Good morning, Vespa.”

“If you’re looking for your annoying girlfriend, he refused to leave your side after you got out of surgery, but I finally convinced him to go to bed an hour ago because he looked like death. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Ah. Thank you,” Nureyev says, then frowns. “I…was in surgery?”

Vespa nods, looking irritated. “You had a labral tear. It’s a fairly minor injury, usually treatable by medication and physical therapy. That is, so long as the person with the tear doesn’t insist on hiding it and performing an entire heist while injured.”

Nureyev feels his face heat up and looks away from her, poking experimentally at a bruise on his forearm. “I…apologize. I thought I would be all right, and I knew the window for the heist was small. I didn’t realize there was someone else on the crew just as capable of navigating the vents as I.”

Vespa sighs. “You know, it wasn’t easy, drawing that boundary. It made me feel real fucking useless, having to tell Buddy that I wasn’t willing to do jobs that involve enclosed spaces.”

Nureyev digs his nails into his arm. “And then you were forced to go in the vents anyway, to help me. I’m so-”

“The point is, thief, even though I felt stupid doing it, I did it anyway. I told her so we could avoid situations exactly like this one, and I was right to. If you thought you’d be making things hard for us by admitting you were injured or that you’re claustrophobic, just look at how hard you made things by _not_ doing that.”

Nureyev swallows drily, unable to deny it.

“You’re not being fucking noble by pretending to be okay,” she continues. “All you’re doing is ensuring that you’re going to cause the people who care about you even more pain down the line when you inevitably have your fucking breakdown from bottling up your shit for so long. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way. You can’t keep it bottled forever. The pressure just builds and builds until it blows up in your face, and everyone else’s too.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Nureyev chews his lip, feeling anxious and exposed under her hard gaze. “It…was a stupid mistake. All of it was. I acted rashly and foolishly, and our mission was a failure as a result.”

“Yep, pretty much.”

“So why did you save me? You could have just left me there to die. You were the only one who could reach me, so it was up to you.”

She hesitates for a moment, then says, “Look, Ransom. You know I don’t like you. I’ve never pretended to. You’re still a member of our family, though. Buddy doesn’t want you to die, so I don’t want you to die either. Not for no good reason. Besides, I don’t think I could stand the pathetic kicked puppy act Steel would put on if anything happened to you. The way he acted when you were getting non-invasive surgery was agonizing enough as it is.”

A smile flickers across Nureyev’s lips at that. He isn’t happy that he put Juno through distress, but…well, it’s nice to be cared for.

“Besides,” Vespa says, “it wasn’t actually up to me. Sure, I was the only other person who could fit in the vents, but if you think the others wouldn’t have found another way if I’d refused, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. For better or for worse, and believe me when I say I think it’s for worse, you’re a part of the team now. We’re not leaving you behind.”

“Oh.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Nureyev shakes himself, hastily blinking away the traitorous tears in his eyes. “No, I’m…Thank you, Vespa. I’m very grateful for what you did for me, both during the heist and after. I promise you that nothing like this will happen again.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’d better not. Thank Siquliak too, by the way.”

“…Why?”

“He’s the one who had to carry your skinny ass back to the ship after you collapsed.”

“Ah.” Now that she says it, he has a vague memory of brown fabric and strong arms lifting him up. Knowing that someone he’s seen as a personal hero for so many years carried him like that…it’s a lot of things, but mostly embarrassing. “I’ll thank him the next time I see him.”

Vespa crosses her arms. “How did you even manage to hurt your hip, anyway? The scans showed the tear happened within the last few days, but you never left the ship in that time.” She suddenly stiffens, blanching. “You know what, never mind. If it happened while you and Steel were _reciting poetry_ I don’t wanna-”

Nureyev chuckles wryly. “It’s even more embarrassing than that, I’m afraid. I was just…stretching.”

“Stretching.”

“It’s the same gymnast’s routine I’ve been doing since I was a teenager. I always do it before heists that involve flexibility.”

She rolls her eyes. “Since you were a _teenager._ There’s your problem. Ransom, you’re not a teenager anymore, you know.”

“I am abundantly aware of that, believe me-”

“So stop expecting to be able to do everything a teenager can do! Bodies change as you age. God knows, I can’t do half the shit I was able to do ten years ago, let alone what I could do when I was seventeen,” she says. “When you were stretching, was it harder than you remembered it being? More painful?”

“…Yes,” he admits.

“That was your body telling you to give it a rest, dumbass. You should have listened to it.” 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t want her to be. “So, what? Am I meant to just sit back and watch as I lose every skill that’s gotten me to this point? Until I’m completely worthless to this crew, this family?”

Vespa rolls her eyes. “God, don’t make me have to compliment you.”

He frowns. “I don’t-”

“You’re so caught up in how you look and your ability to do flips or whatever, but that’s not why Buddy hired you. She hired you because she thinks you’re a good strategist, and you’re smart, and you’re tough under pressure. Because you have a…strong moral core, or whatever. I don’t know if I believe any of those things are true, but that _is_ why she hired you. Even if this injury meant you could never walk again, she’d still want you around.”

“That’s…” Nureyev trails off, his chest swelling with an emotion he doesn’t know how to name. He can’t find a good response, so instead he says, “…I _am_ going to walk again, though, aren’t I?”

“Uuuugh. If you weren’t my patient, I’d hit you. Yes, you’re going to be fine. You just need a few days’ bed rest, and after that you are going to _stop doing exercises that I haven’t specifically assigned you to do._ Understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Great. Now I’m going to get Steel for you so you can whine to him instead.”

She’s about to march out the door when he calls out to her. “Vespa?”

“What is it _now?”_

“I meant it. Thank you for everything.”

She scoffs and looks away. “Yeah, well…you’re welcome, I guess.”

There are nine pink origami ducks beside his bed. Nureyev realizes this as he lies in the quiet infirmary alone, with nothing else to look at. There’s no name to indicate who put them there, but he can easily hazard a guess as to who it was. He recalls Rita mentioning on one of her many tangents that her lucky number is nine. Without meaning to, he finds himself smiling at the mental image of her folding the ducks while he was in surgery as if the little paper creatures might secure his chances of a quick recovery.

He smiles even more when the door to the infirmary opens again and Juno appears there. The lady’s eye falls on him and he immediately rushes to his side.

“Hello, love.”

“Hey,” Juno breathes. “Vespa told me you were awake.”

“Well, if you’ve come to lecture me for how foolishly I acted, you’ve no need. She’s already given me the full-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Juno’s arms are around his neck, muffling him. He smells like sweat and castor oil and the fabric softener Jet uses on all their clothes and in that moment, it’s the best thing that Nureyev’s ever smelled.

“Fuck, I was so scared,” Juno says into his shoulder. “I…I wanted to go and get you myself, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry. Hearing you in there and not being able to do anything…” Nureyev feels him shudder. “It was awful.”

“It was my own fault.”

Juno finally sits back, taking one of Nureyev’s hands instead and squeezing it gently. “Vespa told me about your hip. I…I should have noticed. I knew something was up with you last night…”

Nureyev hushes him. “It wasn’t your responsibility to figure that out, not when I was intentionally hiding it from you.”

“But I _know_ how you feel about enclosed spaces, too, and I-”

“Nothing you said could have dissuaded me from going in there. I wanted to. I…thought I needed to, to prove that I was good enough. Instead I proved the opposite.”

“Nureyev…”

“There’s no sugarcoating it, Juno. I ruined the heist. We’ll have to wait god knows how long for another shot at it, and it’s entirely my fault and mine alone.”

Juno lets out a _humph_ of displeasure, but even he can’t claim it isn’t true. “Well, yeah, but…live and learn, right?”

“Perhaps, but one day I would love to learn something without first royally screwing up.”

“Pretty sure I never have, either, if it makes you feel better.”

“It does, a little.” Nureyev studies his hands, suddenly recalling the look on Juno’s face before he passed out. Most of the heist is just a blur of fear and pain in his mind now, but that part he can remember with perfect clarity. “…I’m sorry for scaring you, Juno.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not hard to scare me, I get spooked by own shadow sometimes-” Juno starts to say, but then cuts himself off. Nureyev knows he’s been trying to get better about the whole deflecting-emotions-with-humor schtick. When he continues, the forced mirth is gone from his voice. “…But it did hurt to listen to you in there, and to…see you collapse.”

Nureyev flinches, looking away.

Juno narrows his eye at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, do you?”

“You’re thinking how embarrassing it is that you had a panic attack and then passed out in front of the crew, and how much of a mess you must have looked like then, and now you’re realizing that you’re not wearing any makeup right now and that’s embarrassing too-”

“Are you certain that there are no lingering effects from that Martian pill?”

“-But you’ve got to let that _go,_ baby.”

“Let what go?”

“This…image that you have of yourself as someone who needs to be perfect all the time, and can never be messy or fucked up or ask for help. It…it’s literally killing you, Nureyev. It could have killed you yesterday.”

“I know.”

“You won’t believe me, obviously, but- wait, what?”

Nureyev grimaces. “You’re right, Juno. Vespa said as much to me too, and it’s true. If I…if I’d only swallowed my pride, none of this would have happened. I’m sorry. It’s just that…I worked so hard to craft the person I am today. Admitting fault or vulnerability in that person…well, it feels like an unforgiveable failure.”

“You don’t think badly of me when I’m being a mess, do you?” Juno asks, sitting down on the bed next to him. “I mean, how many times have you seen me hurt, or covered in snot and tears, or…whatever? If you can still love me despite that then, then…you should extend some of that love to yourself, too.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Fuck no, it’s not. I mean, I’m not exactly the poster child for self-love here, Nureyev. I get it. I’m not expecting you to make it happen overnight. I just…I never want you to have to feel that scared again. Not if there’s any chance we can avoid it.”

“Mm.”

“And if you _have_ to look at it that way…what’s more embarrassing to you, just asking for help, or…everything that happened yesterday?”

Nureyev chuckles. “You make a compelling point, my love.”

“Look, whatever you end up doing, just know I’m here for you, all right? God knows, you’ve helped me through enough bad shit. I want to help you, too. If…if you’ll let me.”

“Oh, Juno. You know I could never deny you anything.” He guides Juno down into a long, slow kiss, but then winces as pain shoots through the newly sewn surgical scar on his hip.

Juno pulls away. “You’re still healing. You should be resting, not getting forced into…serious conversations about the future. I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it, dear. Besides, you should be resting too. I mean no offense, but Vespa was right when she told me you look like death.”

“Couldn’t sleep. I was too worried.”

“Well, I assure you I’m quite all right. You have my blessing- no, my _insistence_ that you go to bed.”

“You’ll be all right here by yourself?”

“Certainly, so long as I know you’re coming back,” Nureyev says.

“’Course I am. Always.” Juno places a light kiss on his temple. “All right. I’ll promise to rest if you do.”

“Very well, then. It’s a promise. There’s just one thing I have to do first, however.”

“Nureyev, come on, you need to-”

“Could you ask Captain Aurinko to come in here when she has a moment?”

Juno looks startled. “I guess so. Er, why?”

“I want to speak with her. About…what I’m willing and not willing to do on missions.”

A smile slowly spreads across Juno’s face. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. A really good one.” He touches his shoulder lightly. “I’m proud of you, hon.”

Nureyev lets out a disgruntled huff. “I should have done it ages ago. You and Vespa already did, but I…” _I am always lagging behind, it seems, in all aspects of the job._

“Don’t,” Juno chides him gently, reading his mind again. “Shit like this takes time. Baby steps, right? You’ve gotta start somewhere. Just…start with being honest.”

_Start with being honest._

Nureyev muses on those words as Juno gives him one last kiss and reassuring smile, then leaves the infirmary. He knows that Juno just means he should stop hiding injuries and phobias, but…well, he hasn’t been honest about a lot of things.

He checks his comms and sees two missed calls from a redacted number, then sinks back into his pillows, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s not safe. Not anywhere, not with anyone. He needs to remember that. Honesty is a good, yes, but dishonesty can sometimes be necessary for survival. No number of heartfelt conversations will change the situation he’s in. He knows that.

But…

Behind his closed lids, he sees Buddy with a hand on his shoulder, telling him he’s capable. He sees Vespa reaching out to him from the maintenance ladder, choosing to save his life despite her own doubts and fears. Jet, who carried him back here. Rita, who left origami ducks at his bedside for good luck. Juno, who…

Well, Juno’s done a lot.

“Are you awake, darling?”

His eyes fly open to find Buddy standing politely beside his bed, looking as collected and regal as ever, the warm night-setting lights haloing her red hair.

“Captain Aurinko,” he says.

“I can always come back later if you’re feeling tired. I’m only here because Juno said you requested my presence.”

No. No, he has to do this now, or he never will. “Stay,” he says quickly. “Please. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“If this is about your claustrophobia, you needn’t worry. I’ve already made note of it. While I regret having discovered it in such a manner, now that we are aware, you won’t be made to do anything of that sort again-”

“Not that,” he says. “Not…just that. There’s something I need to tell you. Can you…sit down?”

“Of course, darling.”

She sits in the chair beside his bed, the one that Juno was occupying only minutes ago. Her face has been carefully passive up to now, but suddenly a look of surprise and concern flickers over it. For a moment he doesn’t understand why, but then his brain catches up with his body and he realizes his cheeks are wet.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yes, well, what happened was unfortunate, but we’ll have other opportunities. I’ve failed many a heist in my day, and it’s nothing to lose sleep over, only a means to learn-” She sees him shaking his head and pauses. “Not that either?”

“Just…listen. Please.”

“Of course. Go right ahead.”

He isn’t safe anywhere. He wasn’t on Brahma, or Mars, or out among the stars, and he isn’t safe here either. There’s always something looming over him. He’s no longer stuck in that maintenance corridor, but he’s still trapped.

He doesn’t want to be, though, and for the first time in his life he’s willing to entertain the thought that he might not _have_ to be.

“It’s a long story,” he says quietly, “and by the end of it…you may despise me. You may choose to cast me out, or kill me, and I’m certainly in no position to prevent you from doing so in my current state-”

Buddy reaches out and puts her hand on top of his, looking him in the eye.

“Talk, Peter,” she says.

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay, the end!
> 
> I really had…zero intentions of making this a “fix-it” for the Nureyev betrayal arc when I started it, or even when I’d written 90% of it, but then I realized it felt kinda weird to write a whole story about Nureyev learning to Be Honest and Not Hide Things while willfully ignoring, you know, that whole thing he’s got going on in canon haha. Sooo....this is my fix-it fic, I guess.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, please leave a kudos/comment if you liked it, and you can find me on tumblr @prydon and twitter @prydonn!!


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